


No Pity

by sketchling



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, but not really, i like writing sadstuck im sorry, this is kind of angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sketchling/pseuds/sketchling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And whatever you began feeling then was something deep and red and all too familiar but not at the same time. It wasn't pity. You do not pity this girl. Not then, and not now, and not ever. You…you aren't sure what you feel for her, but it’s deep, the deepest kind of red you've ever felt, but it’s not pity. It’s not even very troll-like at all and it fascinates you and scares you and confuses you all at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pity

                You breathe. You inhale deeply, sucking in air through your nostrils, and then releasing it in a calm ‘whoosh’ through your mouth. Although, you suppose ‘calm’ isn’t quite the proper definition for it; no, it’s much too shaky and unstable to be ‘calm.’

                The rest of you is a bit of a wreck, as well.

                You’ve been standing at her door for the past five minutes. You’ve been standing there so long that you’ve begun to pick out tiny pictures in the random swirls and lines in the wooden material of the door like pointing out silly forms in clouds. Every time you hear her move, or hum quietly to herself, your body stiffens and you reach for the doorknob slowly before quickly pulling away.

                It’s infuriating, and it’s been this way for the past year.

                It started out just fine; with you, Karkat, Terezi, the Mayor, Dave, Rose, and Gamzee on the meteor together. Dave was always teasing Karkat, Karkat was always shouting, and Terezi was licking everything. Gamzee was in hiding, which was perfectly fine by you. The thought of him being out there _somewhere_ irked you a bit, but you tried to ignore it. You spent your days with Rose, mostly. Whether you were exchanging information about human and troll culture or she was teaching you to knit or you were using her as a model or you were reading together, you were always with her.

                Somewhere along the way, you began to notice miniscule things; the tiny details that people pass up. For instance, Rose has a habit of obsessively adjusting her headband when she’s nervous or anxious. She also has freckles sprinkled lightly on her cheeks.

                You kept noticing all of these things. Slowly at first, then all at once. You somehow convinced yourself it was normal that you were so observant of the small blonde, until one day (three days ago, to be exact) you had found yourself in the same predicament you’re in right now. Although, not for the same reason.

                You remember you heard something coming from Rose’s room. Her door was completely shut, and all that came out were muffled whimpers and small sobs. Alarm had risen in you and you quickly knocked on her door.

                “Rose?” You remember calling to her. “Are you alright?”

                “Kanaya, please go away.” It took three minutes for her to properly respond, and even then, her voice was strained and choked in such a painful way that makes your heart clench even now, just recalling it.

                You paused, before replying, “No. Something is wrong and I want to help.” Then, more softly, “Please.”

                You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the creak of Rose’s bed and the shuffling of her feet across the floor. The door opened and you stepped in as she closed it slowly behind you. Turning around, you finally met her gaze.

                Her nose and eyes were red, and every now and then her nose would twitch in a sniffle. The skin around her eyes was irritated from her rubbing at them (in a desperate attempt to get rid of the tears that previously occupied the spot.)

                You’ve seen Rose break down before. There were nights where you’d burst into her room after hearing her shriek, shaking her awake and simply holding her until they were gone. The nightmares; her price to pay for succumbing to grimdark. It admittedly scared you sometimes because occasionally when she woke up she wouldn’t be able to speak English; her mind would be too caught up in the horrorterrors and she’d be sobbing to you in some strange tongue that made her roll her r’s in a way that sent shivers up your spine.

                However, those moments were in the dark; literally. You recall going to turn on the lamp that’s perched on the table next to her bed, and her quickly begging you not to, to do _anything_ but turn the light on. Upon questioning her about it once, she responded with a curt, “I’d rather you not see me at my worst.”

                So for her to present herself like that to you, you were touched.

                She moved back to her bed, hardly picking up her feet when she walked. The blonde sat on the bed, pulling her knees up close to her and hugging them to her chest. You wanted so desperately to reach out and dry her eyes, to hold her close and comfort her, but you know Rose isn’t that kind of person. So you stood there, waiting patiently for her to say something.

                “I’m sorry,” was the first thing that she choked out. You shook your head, opening your mouth to tell her not to apologize, but she didn’t give you time. “I just…miss her.” And then, it clicked in your thinkpan. Rose missed her lusus. You shifted in your spot, about to move towards her, but you held back. Not yet.

                “I never…” Her own voice was cut off by a shuddering gasp as she struggled to maintain a steady breathing pattern. “She was always…” Her voice failed her again, and a bitter smile bloomed on her lips like a wilting beautiful flower. “I’m sorry,” she apologized again, refusing to meet your gaze as she stared at her knees. “I’m awful with dealing with my own emotions. It—It’s kind of ironic, really. I’m always m-meddling in other peoples live-s, over-analyzing and playing the…the therapist.” Rose said ‘therapist’ with almost a bit of resentment, as if she loathed the description. “Yet I refuse to al-allow them to meddle in mine. M’sorry.” Her teeth scraped over her bottom lip roughly, and you realized she wasn’t wearing lipstick. Or any cosmetics at all, for that matter.

                You thought she looked even more stunning without them.

                “I’m no-t g-good at this,” she stammered. Her syllables were torn at the seams; her words were rushing out of her mouth in a crowd and tripping over themselves, unlike the neat, single-file line they usually march out in.

                And that was your cue. You darted forward, perching on the edge of her bed and fixing your gentle gaze on her. There was a deep inhale (and whether it was yours or hers, you still don’t know) and a pause before you spoke. “Rose.” And she looked up hesitantly at you. Your breath caught in your throat for a moment; in her disheveled mess, with her bright red nose and eyes and wet cheeks, she somehow struck a chord in your heart. And whatever you began feeling then was something deep and red and all too familiar but not at the same time. It wasn’t pity. You do not pity this girl. Not then, and not now, and not ever. You…you aren’t sure what you feel for her, but it’s deep, the deepest kind of red you’ve ever felt, but it’s not pity. It’s not even very troll-like at all and it fascinates you and scares you and confuses you all at the same time.

                You swallowed hard, before continuing as steady as you could, “It is going to be okay.”

                It’s not the best comfort you’ve ever given, but you’re not used to comforting. You’ve talked Vriska out of her homicidal rages, you’ve calmed Karkat down, and you’ve helped several trolls with quadrants issues but nothing like this. It was raw emotions and vulnerability, and it was nothing you’d ever dealt with before.

                Regardless, whether your comforting skills in that scenario were shitty or not, Rose’s gorgeous lilac eyes began to glisten with more tears, and she quietly spread her arms out towards you.

                You stared at her open arms for a long moment, baffled. Rose Lalonde? Showing affection? It was unheard of. However, you weren’t about to complain and slowly reached over and wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her close to you. She smelled like lavender and the tea she made for the two of you in the morning, with something vanilla-y.

                The two of you sat there for a long moment, simply enjoying the warmth of each other. You don’t remember who pulled away first, but either way, you were both reluctant, and you both had light blushes on your cheeks. You fumbled like the anxious young woman you are, stuttering and excusing yourself to go make tea for both of you.

                That moment three days ago, that moment is exactly why you’re standing here now, in front of her door yet again. It’s why you haven’t slept for more than eight hours the past two days, why you’ve been too distracted to eat or even read or sew.

                You feel something for Rose Lalonde, and it’s not the normal flushed red feeling. It’s not pity at all. It’s something entirely different. Admiration…adoration…a lot of ‘ations’. You don’t understand it, and it starts a fluttering feeling in your stomach but twists it at the same time and it’s so confusing, just so damn confusing, but horribly fascinating and wonderful at the same time. All the bubbling feelings inside of you make you want to tell Rose so desperately what you’re feeling for her, but you’re frightened. Not because you fear rejection, but because you have no idea how to put what you feel into words. You don’t have a term or name for it. It scares you.

                But somehow, that dark lingering fear inside of you propels you to grip the handle on the blonde’s door and twist it, gently knocking as you do so and only opening it partway so as not to startle her completely. “Um,” you say quietly, finding that your throat is unusually dry as the seer’s scent wafts in through your nostrils, “Rose?”

                You hear her shift on her bed before she replies, sounding rather knowing and smug. It makes you want to cringe. She must have known you’d been standing out there for so long; she sounded like she’d been expecting you. “Oh, Kanaya. Come in.”

                You pause, opening the door all the way and standing there awkwardly, looking at her. She’s sitting criss-cross on her bed, a book perched in her lap and a steaming cup of coffee balanced in her left hand lazily. Rose barely even glances up at you as you enter, shutting the door behind you. Her lilac eyes leisurely trail across the pages before her, calmly.

                She raises the mug slowly, her black plump lips pursing around the rim in such an adorable way and it makes you swallow hard.

                “I’m flushed for you.”

                A pause.

                “No, actually, I’m not. I’m…oh, God, I don’t know what I am for you, but it’s deep and emotional and it’s not pity, no it’s definitely not pity. I mean, I suppose I do pity you to some degree, but, I mean, it’s not just that, no, it’s so much deeper and detailed than just that. I…I really…really care about you, Rose. A lot. More than I should. I admire you. I…I…” You trail off in your ramble, unsure of what word to use to tell her how you feel. You move your gaze to hers, silently begging her to help, to provide you with the word you don’t understand. You’re positive your face is the darkest shade of jade possible, and you toy with the fabric on your skirt anxiously, unable to tear your eyes away from hers. Rose blinks, her eyes widening slightly and her eyebrows rising as she looks up at you, her lips detaching from the cup to part into a small ‘o’.

                “Oh.”

                Oh.

                _Oh._

                Your brows furrow, and whether it’s in anger or confusion, you’re not sure; you think maybe a mix of both. You just confessed your confusing deep flushed red feelings for her, and all she had to say was ‘oh’? Your fangs dig into your bottom lip, drawing blood. At least you wore jade lipstick today.

                Rose sets down the cup on her bedside table, closing her book and setting it next to the rusty mug. She sits up straighter and pats the spot next to her, motioning for you to sit there. You relent and cautiously sit down beside her, your chest clenching in the most uncomfortable yet pleasing way.

                “I believe I’ve explained human romance to you once before,” she begins. You can feel her eyes burning into you, but you refuse to look, focusing on some invisible stain on your hand. “Perhaps I was a bit vague. Regardless, I’ll explain it again.

                “Humans don’t have clear quadrants like trolls do. There aren’t multiple kinds of romance. It’s all just a jumbled mess. If you were to approach it in troll terms, I guess you could say we only have one quadrant, which is the matesprit quadrant. But it doesn’t go by the same…feelings as yours does. While yours revolves around pity and sympathy, ours is more based on empathy. Empathy, caring, understanding, and needing.” She pauses to take a slow breath.

                “We refer to the feeling—or quadrant, I guess—as love.”

                You glance up at her, and you’re surprised with the emotion in her expression. The soft, caring, warm, gentleness.

                “I love you,” you murmur quietly, slowly reaching over to take her hand in yours.

                She smiles, intertwining your fingers together and giving your hand a squeeze. “I know. I love you, too, Kanaya.”

                And that’s when you don’t think you can hold it in anymore. You tug her towards you and press your lips to black ones, kissing hesitantly at first before pulling back just a bit, your forehead leaning against hers, your eyes half-lidded to gauge her reaction. She has the brightest smile on her face and quickly pulls you right back in, moving her soft lips against yours and you’re positive at this point, as the kiss grows more open-mouthed and heavy that your lipstick is smearing, but you can’t bring yourself to care as you eagerly kiss her back. It’s not long before your hands are diving up and under her shirt, tracing unknown shapes on her pale skin as your lips begin to travel southwards and you effectively push her back onto the bed.

                You decide that night, as you draw the most beautiful notes from her lips and as she’s squirming beneath you, hairband long gone and normally neat blonde hair ruffled, that troll romance is overrated, anyways.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a thing for classy lesbians
> 
> and sadstuck
> 
> and happy sex endings


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